by Anne Marsh
“Where?” She got the question out, but she couldn’t breathe with the anticipation of this game they were playing. Her voice was husky, trembling with the desire these two men roused in her. God, she was a lucky woman.
Landry smiled. “She wants to know where. Here,” he said, pressing the backs of his fingers against her lips. “And definitely here.” His hand moved down until he was cradled in the valley between her breasts, rubbing his fingers over her stiff nipples. “And then, if you’re a good girl, Mary Jane, I’ll be moving on, because I’m certainly touching you here.” His hand dropped lower still, until his palm brushed the curve of her belly above her mound.
His eyes held hers while an erotically charged silence filled the room. Water slapped against the side of the boat, and an ibis called harshly, the nasal honk breaking Landry’s sensual hold on her.
Landry looked at her. “That sound like a plan to you?”
He pressed in, his knuckle finding her exquisitely sensitive clit. Her senses flamed, sweet sensation spearing through where they were connected. She pushed into his touch, wanting more—and he stepped away.
“Your choice, sha.”
She wanted this. Wanted Dre and Landry, both of them, in this bed with her. She was melting from the inside out, aching with this need they woke in her, but this time she wasn’t hesitating. They were going to be hers.
“Strip,” she ordered.
Denim and cotton hit the floor as they stripped, and she pulled off her own clothes in record time. They landed on the bed in a tangle of mouths and hands. Dre groaned, hungry, as he devoured her with a raw kiss. With one hand, he pulled her up onto his chest until her legs were wrapped around his hips, her arms beneath his neck.
The unexpected swat on her ass had her freezing. “Lift up some,” Landry instructed.
She turned her face into Dre’s neck to hide her flush. Her head wasn’t sure how she felt about the little smack, but her body liked it. The erotic sting streaked straight to her pussy and made her wetter.
God, she wanted more. More of what, she didn’t know.
Dre nudged her face back to his, leaving her ass canted in the air. Embarrassment fled, her skin warm and tingling where Landry had spanked her. His fingers smoothed over that sensitive spot, stroking the soft bottom curve and dipping down to where she was wet. For a long moment, as Dre kissed her, he simply teased her, gathering her moisture on his fingertips and spreading it.
“You ready, sha?” Landry’s question warned her even as a finger speared her, pushing firmly inside her rear. One. Two. Her breath caught as he scissored her gently open. Three. “We still need to talk, sha.” Landry’s voice rumbled against her ear, his fingers moving deeper.
Dre let go of her mouth, giving her one last, hard kiss, and she whimpered. Kissing was easier than talking.
Maybe he felt the same way, because his fingers found her nipples, his palms shaping her breasts as his calloused fingers flicked at the hard points. The sensation was rough. Pleasurable.
Landry’s open palm landed on her ass, a sharp crack followed by a burning sting, and she gasped out his name.
“Landry, yes?” he asked. “Landry, do it again?” He tapped her firmly on the other cheek. “I’m not hurtin’ you.” His fingers descended, giving her another small smack. “Am I, sha?”
He popped his fingers free, and she arched her back. “Do it again.”
###
Dre seated himself deep inside her heated channel with one firm thrust, parting the slick tissues. Landry smacked her ass again, enjoying the way she jolted forward onto that penetrating cock.
“I’m waitin’.” And Landry would wait as long as it took, too. No way would he let their Mary Jane weasel out of admitting the truth now. She liked their sexy play. She liked them.
“But I’m not,” she whispered. The way she rode Dre’s cock, she’d be finished before either of them.
“Mary Jane,” he warned. He was dying to be inside her too, but there were things that had to be said first. This wasn’t just sex, not anymore. This was their future, this woman cradled in his and Dre’s arms. So he’d make sure everything got done right, because he wasn’t losing her.
Dre’s hands held her head still, his eyes meeting hers. She’d look them both in the eye when she gave them the truth. Good or bad, there’d be no hiding from it, but Christ, he wanted this with everything he was. He wanted to make a life together, him and Dre and Mary Jane. Question was, what did she want?
“Are you choosin’?” Dre’s voice was hoarse but sure. His brother knew what was at stake here. Heart racing, he waited for her answer.
Mary Jane didn’t hesitate. When she went in, she went all in. “Hell yes.”
Yes. Landry didn’t know which one of them uttered the word, but elation filled him. This, this was what he’d been waiting for. Centuries for this one special female, and now he got to hold on to her and hold on tight. She made everything right in his world.
Landry breached her ass with a shallow thrust. Perfect. He opened her up, slamming in and out, matching his thrusts to Dre’s.
His brother wasn’t done yet, though. Must have needed more.
“More words,” Dre growled. “Because yes isn’t cuttin’ it, sha.”
“You,” she bit out. “Landry. Both of you.”
“Lady’s choice,” Landry gasped. Christ, she was killing him. He’d died and gone to heaven, and that was just fine with him.
Dre growled, nipping at her shoulder and marking her. His teeth left a small red crescent branded into her skin and Landry liked that. The Pack, the whole damned world, would look at her and know. She belonged to them. Hell, he couldn’t wait until she returned the favor. He’d wear her mark proudly. Pressing forward, he bit lightly, adding his brand to Dre’s.
In. Out. Thrusting home again and again, Dre slapped his hips against hers as Landry rode her ass until he came, pouring himself heart and soul into her. As he stilled, watching the pleasure roll over Dre’s face, he felt her small shudders. Her body clutching them both right there, her face buried in Dre’s throat.
“Mine,” she said fiercely, lifting her head to watch Dre’s face. He loved that note of possession. She was all wolf at heart, staking her claim every bit as thoroughly as they’d staked theirs.
“Hell yeah,” Landry said, collapsing against her.
Dre’s hands stroked her back, rearranging her between them. Settling her down as sleep beckoned. “Ours.”
Chapter Twelve
Later, much later, after hours of mind-blowing sex she suspected the rest of the Pack had heard clear across the bayou, she rolled into Dre’s arms, Landry spooned up against her.
“Better?” Landry ran a hand down her back, working out the knots.
She was.
Tell them.
They deserved to know the truth, to understand why parts of Pack life would be off-limits for her. The words weren’t easy to find, though. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Dre watched her carefully, like he sensed her internal battle. Maybe he did, being part wolf. “You don’ have to say anythin’ you don’ wan’ to.”
I do.
If she kept this to herself, it would always lie between them. They both knew something had happened to her.
“My father, he beat on me,” she admitted, the familiar shame choking off her voice. She should have done something, should have figured out a way to stop his abuse. Hell, how hard could it have been to walk away? Left foot and then right foot, rinse and repeat. And yet she hadn’t done it.
“I didn’t stop him,” she confessed. Landry’s hands stilled, then started moving again.
“He bigger than you?” The question was level and even, like he was discussing the weather with her.
“Yeah.” She didn’t want to dwell on the memories. Living through the pain and the fear once had been enough.
“He was your daddy?” Landry continued when she nodded. “So the way I see it he was the Alpha in your pack. His j
ob was to love you and take care of you.”
“To keep you safe,” Dre rumbled.
“An’ he didn’t do these things, did he?” Landry’s voice sliced through the silence.
“No,” she admitted. She clung to that truth, savoring Dre and Landry’s warmth.
“So any shame there, it’s all his.”
“Shoot, sha.” Dre’s big hands joined Landry’s, stroking over her back. He dropped his forehead to hers. “You point us at him, and we’ll make sure he understands that.”
A smile cracked her lips. “He’s dead.”
She’d identified the body after a week in the bayou. He’d fallen in coming home from his nightly bender at the local bar, and no way had she dredged up any tears for him. After all, he’d likely been coming for her.
“That’s a shame.” Landry’s eyes were cold. “I’d like to have me a shot at him.”
Dre cursed. “One shot wouldn’t be enough. Not for me.”
“I’m not telling you this for sympathy.” She wasn’t. Her past, though, was something they needed to understand because there were parts of their Pack life she couldn’t deal with now.
“I love you,” Landry said roughly. “That means I want to hear whatever you got to tell me, sha.”
“It means a whole lot of other things, too,” Dre murmured. His mouth brushed her ear.
“Life in the Pack isn’t always easy. It’s not pretty. You ever been to one of those medieval times banquets up Vegas way?” Landry asked. “That’s not so far off. We were born into a pretty brutal time, and we held our own. We fought. We killed. Sometimes Packs forgot who they were supposed to be protectin’ and turned on their own. Livin’ in the wild, cut off from our mates? We didn’ always make right choices.”
“Landry...” Her voice broke. He did understand. Maybe he’d been there, too. She ran a hand over his arm. He was so strong.
“I wouldn’t let that happen to you. Hell, you wouldn’t let that happen to you. Joinin’ our Pack will be whatever you wan’ it to be. Just because you don’ wan’ to wade into a fight, fists swingin’? That don’ make you weak, sha.”
“That makes you smart,” Dre added.
“We need that touch of softness,” Landry continued. “Reminds us of a side of life we don’ wan’ to be forgettin’. Pack life can be brutal.” He hesitated. “Some Alphas care more for makin’ a point with their fists than they do for takin’ care of their Pack.”
“I’m not weak.”
“Never said you were.” Dark eyes watched her. “Just said you were no alpha.”
“And being beta isn’t a synonym for weak?”
Landry shook his head. “You can fight back without swingin’ a fist or pickin’ up a weapon. Sure you can, but you don’ have to be doin’ that. We’ve got plenty of muscle in our Pack. You bring somethin’ else.”
She opened her mouth, but then Dre was talking. ”You be whatever you wan’ to be, sha. Landry and I, we love you jus’ fine for who you are. You and us, we’re not jus’ labels, right? We each got the other’s back.”
“How do I take care of you?” She eyed him suspiciously. “And the answer better not be: in bed.”
Landry’s chuckle warmed her right up. “That, too, yeah, but that’s not what either of us means. You ask Dre, here. You ask him about shiftin’ into the wolf and not knowin’ if he’s comin’ back again or not. When a wolf doesn’t have a mate, he can’t always shift himself back to human. Eventually, he jus’ runs as a wolf, stays four-legged, and he don’ come home no more.”
She turned her head so she could get a good look at Dre. “That true?”
“Yeah.” He stroked his thumb along her jaw. “You give me that second chance, that reason to come home.”
“You love me?”
“Sure do.”
“We both do,” Dre added.
“Uh-huh.” She eyed them for a long moment.
“And we’d like to be hearing those words from you as well,” Landry said pleasantly, when she let the silence stretch on.
“I like my space,” she warned. “This whole Pack closeness—you may want that, but I don’t. I’m not saying we don’t do the dinner-and-holiday thing, but…” she looked at them, willing them to understand, “…that’s not who I am. I can’t do that.”
“She thinkin’ we’re inviting her to an orgy?” Now Landry sounded amused. So maybe she had that wrong.
“Sounds like it.” That was definitely rich amusement coloring Dre’s voice.
Landry examined her face, serious again. “Sure, sha, we all like sharin’, but it’s not sharin’ if it’s not what you want. There’s not one of my brothers who’d force this. We’ll take it slow and easy, one day, one night at a time, and only as far as you wan’ this to be goin’.”
She hadn’t misunderstood—and she didn’t misunderstand the erotic thrill of curiosity that shot through her now. Not today, but someday...
“And if I never want to invite the Pack into our bedroom?”
“Then it won’t happen. No worries.” He cupped the side of her face. “You don’t want that, you don’t do that.”
“You goin’ to admit the truth now?” Dre rumbled, and she caved.
She rolled onto her back, both men following her. One on her left, one on her right, with her in the middle where she belonged. “I love you,” she said.
Two bayou bad boys to hold her and love her.
Two men to share her heart with.
Definitely lucky twice over.
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About the Author
Heated romance. Hot heroes. Happily ever after. I’m the nationally best-selling author of paranormal and contemporary romance. My books have been named finalists twice for the Readers Crown.
I’m a Northern California transplant from snowy Vermont who loves good books, Cheetos and working in the garden. Find more information about my books (including excerpts) at: www.anne-marsh.com or on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Anne-Marsh/225897900782649. Or, come tweet with me at https://twitter.com/anne_marsh.
Paranormal Romance
THE HUNT
BOND WITH ME (Fallen, Book 1)
HIS DARK BOND (Fallen, Book 2)
SAVAGE BOND (Fallen, Book 3)
TEMPTED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 1)
PLEASURED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 2)
Contemporary Romance
BURNING UP (Smoke Jumpers, Book 1)
SLOW BURN (Smoke Jumpers, Book 2)
E-book Novellas
ONE HOT COWBOY
VIKING’S ORDERS
REBURN (The Hotshots, 1)
HOT ZONE (The Hotshots, 2)
Available now in print and ebook...
Excerpt from Savage Bond
(The Fallen, Book 3)
Vkhin’s headset crackled, coming alive, as the slim figure ejected in slow motion from the open chopper bay. Ten thousand feet up, but his view from the helo was still ringside. The gloved hand hitting the small of the jumper’s back had him growling. That hand had touched her. He knew the body falling free of the chopper. Not as well as he wanted, but he’d been watching her for the last month and Fallen intel said she’d gone up in the plane. One pilot. One ride-along MVD agent. And Ria Morgan.
Ria’s body cleared the chopper and he fought his instinctive reaction. That bird was going down and he didn’t want her anywhere near the wreck. He’d warned Zer and the other Fallen that MVD was getting too bold, making moves that would take the human police division r
ight into Fallen territory. Looked like he was going to have the proof he needed. Unfortunately, his professional responsibilities here were at war with something more feral. Possessive. Ria Morgan was his.
She might be a card-carrying member of MVD and an enemy hostile in his territory, but he wanted her. A rogue dropped away from others going after the chopper, circling back around the protective fire Ria’s human companion was laying down. The gunner laid in counter-fire and the rogue dropped. If Ria was lucky and the other MVD agent was a good shot, Ria just might make it to the ground.
Good. He commed in on his headset. “I’ve got a visual. One jumper. Rest of the crew is staying put. I’m going closer.”
Punching in his new coordinates, he drove the helo towards the chopper without waiting for confirmation from base.
His response to Ria was irrational. She was a backroom operative, a desk jockey. Smart as a whip—he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating her brain—but she pulled her nine-to-five and left the dirty stuff to MVD’s field agents. She went into that office building every morning, real punctual. She stopped briefly to pick up a mocha—guilty weakness—and a doughnut, while he knew the same untouched energy bar banged around in the bottom of her over-sized purse every morning. She favored slim pencil skirts and buttoned up white blouses in real soft syn-cotton that clung to her breasts beneath the oversized cardigans she wrapped around herself because she was always cold. A sexy skirt and blouse like that just begged for four-inch heels, but, no, she paired the ensemble with an endless series of black ballerina flats. That mismatch intrigued him. Because, if she wore the flats because they were comfortable or she enjoyed them, what did that say about her taste in skirts? Those skirts cupped her ass, were made from soft fabrics that rubbed against her skin with every step she took, slid temptingly upward when she sat down at that desk of hers, crossed her legs, and leaned forward, going for the joystick controlling her drone. Those skirts were a sensual treat.
He just wanted to know who she was treating.
He, on the other hand, was a warrior, a hand-to-hand fighter who’d climbed into far too many trenches and done whatever killing needed to be done. He didn’t need to be jonesing after a woman who clearly not only didn’t know the meaning of down and dirty, but had no intention of ever leaving the pristine confines of her office. He respected MVD’s field agents because those men and women put it on the line every day. Every weapon they strapped on, every fight they broke up or started—those were acts he could respect. Coffee and a doughnut were a whole different world.
